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Belief was the food of the gods. But they also needed a shape. Gods became what people believed they ought to be. So the Goddess of Wisdom carried a penguin. It could have happened to any god. It should have been an owl. Everyone knew that. But one bad sculptor who had only ever had an owl described to him makes a mess of a statue, belief steps in, next thing you know the Goddess of Wisdom is lumbered with a bird that wears evening dress the whole time and smells of fish. You gave a god its shape, like a jelly fills a mold. Gods often became your father, said Abraxas the Agnostic. Gods became a big beard in the sky, because when you were three years old that was your father. Of course Abraxas survived . . . This thought arrived sharp and cold, out of the part of his own mind that Brutha could still call his own. Gods didn't mind atheists, if they were deep, hot, fiery atheists like Simony, who spend their whole life not believing, spend their whole life hating gods for not existing. That sort of atheism was a rock. It was nearly belief.

— Small Gods by Terry Pratchett, Andy Serkis, Peter Serafinowicz, and 1 other

“Poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost,” says Mary Oliver. I would suggest that we need game poems in the world for the same reason that we need poetry in general: because we are cold, and we need videogames that are fires.

We need videogames born of waiting, silence, and deep listening. We need videogames that speak the language of our contemporary lives, yet are able to hold themselves above our lives’ monstrous current. We need videogames that are able to see beyond our latest obsessions and fetishes to the truths that connect us across time and space. We need videogames about God and intractable mystery. We need videogames that call out oppression and injustice in all their myriad forms. We need videogames that remind us of what it means to be human in the face of the posthuman and the inhuman. And we need videogames that remind us that we still have the capacity to love, and the capacity to forgive.

In short, we need videogames that embody “the subtlety, elegance, and hunger of the human spirit,” as Mark Strand and Eavan Boland write. We need videogames that, in the words of Dylan Thomas, are able to make our “toenails twinkle.”

— Game Poems by Jordan Magnuson (Page 150)

Fear is strange soil. Mainly it grows obedience like corn, which grows in rows and makes weeding easy. But sometimes it grows the potatoes of defiance, which flourish underground.

— Small Gods by Terry Pratchett, Andy Serkis, Peter Serafinowicz, and 1 other

Hvitevarene måtte selvfølgelig integreres, ettersom Svein er gæren etter alt som er integrert: Jeg har ikke tall på hvor mange sosiale sammenhenger vi har vært i hvor han har skrytt av den integrerte garasjen. Det var verst det første året etter at den ble bygd, men selv mange år etterpå kunne han snakke om den hvis han ble tilstrekkelig full. Når han drakk øl, tilbød han seg å besøke folk og se hva slags garasje de hadde, som en slags befaring, for å sjekke forholdene og gi noen ekspertråd om mulige utbedringer, men drakk han vin, ble praten sentimental og garasjen det eneste han hadde oppnådd i livet, og det virka som om alle andre tanker, alt språk hadde rent ut av hjernen hans, og de få ordene som var igjen sleit han med å stable etter hverandre for å forklare hvor rørende det var å kunne gå i sokkelesten fra kjellerstua og rett ut i garasjen uten å bli kaldere på føttene, midt på vinteren, men når han en sjelden gang drakk brennevin, ble han aggressiv, konfronterende, helst mot personer han aldri hadde møtt før, og i et nyttårsselskap sto han med drinksugerør bak begge øra og brølte til mannen til ei studievenninne av Elin: Din helvetes bytting, det finnes ingen ulemper med en integrert garasje.

— Ikke mennesker jeg kan regne med by Kyrre Andreassen